


Dying Light

by GhostOakes



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, Pennywise - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Caretaking, Death, F/M, Fear, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Other, Tentacles, gender ambiguous reader, gender neutral reader, gender neutral smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOakes/pseuds/GhostOakes
Summary: After moving to Derry to focus on  your work, you find yourself trapped in a tango with an ancient entity.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a quick fic between the reader and my personal adaptation of Pennywise (affectionately known as grandad). This is not 90s or 2017 version of Pennywise.   
> Image of him: http://bit.ly/2yr8oSQ
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Some mood music:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMbd8BVV9xk  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q49yNiQwIso

About a week ago this all began.

You had moved to this growing town in hopes of finding inspiration for your latest series of short stories. It wasn’t that you needed the income, no- you were doing fine there. You just needed new scenery is all. Derry was just small yet bustling enough to keep your interest. Everyone here preferred privacy but maintained an air of amicable hospitality that kept you from feeling depressed or homesick.

Still, something nagged at you. A worry worked its way through your heart and clutched at your skull. It was as if you’d heard a kitten mewling in a storm drain and now you were left wondering if it was still there- shivering, cold, dying.

You had sat up and bed and cried, a sorrow had built up in your chest and it all flooded out like a lanced wound.

The next day, you’d found yourself standing still in front of an old abandoned home. The house on Neibolt street had been left alone for so many years it was a wonder that time hadn’t ground it into dust.

_Come in, come in, come say hello._

Cool wind swirled around your ankles and pressed into your calves, as if you’d been pushed towards the crooked steps. You obliged, feet tentatively stepping up to the imposing front door. The handle was somewhat rusted and the ruddy grit came off on your fingers. Somehow, you’re not surprised when the door swung open and you stepped into the looming home.

That had been your first step towards your fate. Had you known, maybe you would have turned back. Maybe you would have come back and set a fire and destroyed the house for good. Or maybe, just maybe- you would have done everything all over again.


	2. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You bite off more than you can chew.

Trembling, cold fingers gently set the package down on the wooden floorboards. Fear always floods your body when you approach the slightly crooked oak door. However, something inside of you is pulled. You are drawn to this place, compelled to bring little gifts of meat and discarded offal. Sometimes you can only afford the low-grade stuff but you do your best to bring the nicer things. Once you were even able to buy a whole leg that had been dropped on the floor- the butcher was just going to toss it! What a waste! Today you only had some skirt steaks and a bit of tripe.

Pulling the brown twine slowly, the knot comes undone and the butcher paper falls away like the petals of a dead flower. Luckily it was near winter, a chill had driven all the bugs away. The tripe would have brought in flies.

You take a deep breath and straighten your back. Turning on your heel, you bring your hands up to your face and hide your eyes. You have always felt compelled to do this action- from the very first time you brought it a gift to now. Today, however, you feel the strange compulsion slip.

Drawing in a deep breath, you listen for the familiar sounds of it approaching. At first, it’s only a shuffle in a room behind you, the soft ruffling sound of silk on wood. A melodic jingle of bells. Then the heavy creak of floorboards as it quietly approached you from behind.

Your heart begins to pick up, a fear waters in your jaws and you want to scream and run. You stay still and tremble in place. It’s right behind you now. You’re keenly aware of its presence- in both the cool air at your back, the softest sounds of its deep breathing, and its weight bowing the floor just slightly.

“I want to see you.” You say, your voice sounding far away.

_That would be unwise._

You know that it did not speak, but you’re sure that you heard it. A deep, distant voice rumbling in your bones.

“I want… to see you.” You say again, and your hands come away from your eyes. The rustling behind you stops, but you can tell it’s still there. You feel its eyes boring down into your neck. It says nothing, just waits.

Prickles of fear crawl over your arms and face as you make your choice. Numbly, you start to turn your body around to face the thing you’ve been feeding. Despite knowing it was there the entire time, you flinch as your eyes first fall upon it.

It’s a clown. A tall, lanky clown with big sleeves and a collar so puffy you’re reminded of carnation flowers. Its face is oval shaped, with tired eyes peering down at you with some level of mistrust. Despite its rather handsome exterior you can’t help but feel just as frightened as before. It towers over you, red hair almost touching the ceiling. A slow smile spreads across its face and you look with horror at its degrading teeth. They’re a deep yellow, cracked like some ancient skull’s teeth. Rotted.

Your fear is suddenly overcome with a new emotion. Some sort of sympathy.

“D-don’t your teeth hurt?” you manage to ask.

It stops smiling and its eyebrows raise. You start to take a step back, an apology working up to your lips when it laughs. Its entire mouth looks… blackened. A disgustingly foul odor washes over you and the smell churns your stomach so hard that your eyes flutter shut. You can’t help but notice how nice its laugh sounds- perhaps the churn in your guts is more than just revulsion at its decaying scent.

“People these days,” it speaks, but you can tell that it moves its mouth in a tender way- perhaps it was in pain. “not afraid of things like they used to be.”

Your teeth worry at your bottom lip, and you feel a heat in your cheeks that had sprout up. Its voice was so mellow and smooth, you want to kick yourself for not turning around sooner. For a moment, there is only silence between you and the clown.

Suddenly it thrusts one of its arms out and bows, bending sharply at its hips. You flinch a bit at the sudden movement, but you’re also feeling a bit… charmed.

“My name is Pennywise the Dancing clown. Or, if we’re more familiar…” it opens its eyes to look directly at you, “you may call me Robert Gray.” It smiles, but this time keeps its lips together in order to keep from showing its rotten teeth.

You feel another flush of heat on your cheeks. Your fingers twist together and you try to pick one of the dozens of thoughts flying around in your head, but it’s to no avail. You merely giggle shyly and bite your bottom lip again.

It raises just one eyebrow this time, seeming to judge your reactions with a calculating, cool gaze.

“To answer your question from earlier- yes. My teeth do hurt. You see, I’m very ill but I’m getting better. All the food you’ve brought me has been such a help- I’m afraid so much has gone to waste.”

Now you find your voice, alarmed. “Waste? How come?” you glance down at the parcel of meat on the floor, it hadn’t even had the chance to tuck into the meal yet.

“Well, my mouth, dear. It hurts me. I need something softer.”

You stoop to pick up the meat from the floor, the crinkle of butcher paper incredibly loud in your ears. Softer? Maybe you should have asked for hamburger meat instead- a soft noise of surprise escapes you when you realize it’s far closer than you thought it was. The big orange pompoms on his suit almost touch the meat in your hands!

“O-oh!” you chirp, looking up sharply. It leans down a bit to see over his collar. You can smell the stink of death about him, but only when you’re close like this. A heat burns in your cheeks and ears again as you look at his deep, indigo blue eyes.

“May I ask you for further help?”

You stare a moment longer and feel yourself nodding dumbly, your lips parted slightly and jaw slack. Clutching the parcel of meat, you follow it as it backs into a dark, foul smelling bedroom. There are a few old and browned mattresses tossed into a corner, most likely where it sleeps. The more you want to look around you the harder you find it to do so, and your eyes stay latched on it. It smiles, indigo eyes burning like a cold fire in the dim light of the room.

This time, the poor state of its teeth shocks you less and you feel your pounding heart go out to it. You stop chewing your bottom lip long enough to ask, “What else do you need?”

It raises its arms and you feel one of its heavy sleeves rest on your head. The weight is grounding, almost soothing as it gives you a gentle pet. A shudder runs through your body and you bring your free hand up to rub your burning ear.

“I need you to take care of me. Like you have been. I am frail, and I am weak. I need help regaining my strength. Come here, kiddo.” It chuckled and used his heavy arm to scoop behind your back. You’re being pushed towards the pile of mattresses. You can spot the stains on them now- rusty reddish colors where it’s sat and eaten the gifts you bring.

You wonder why you’re allowing this at all. You’re trembling, walking with stiff and tentative strides. Your mind is screaming out to run away, to flee and never come back. You can’t, though. You can’t leave this… thing to die. It asked for your help, didn’t it? All at once your body seizes up and a cold, stomach turning wash of fear rolls over you. The clown beside you stops smiling and its gaze falls on you with a ferocity that makes you feel small.

_Those bright, blue eyes._

You feel loose again and fall to your knees on the dirty mattress. It follows suit and rests with its legs splayed out and back against the wall.

As if you’re pulled towards it by invisible hands, you find yourself crawling towards it and seating yourself between its legs. You’re aware of the stench of decay and rot around you, but something in your skull keeps you rooted to the spot like you’re anchored down by your tailbone.

“My muscles and bones are weak, I need you to chew for me. Can you do that, dear?” it blinks slowly, a placating smile on his handsome mouth. You shudder, horror dawning on you as you process what the clown demands.

“B-but-“ you start, but the moment his smile starts to fade you feel your heart leap into your throat. You hurriedly raise the meat to your lips and bite into it without hesitation, your eyes locked with its. You want to look away- god, everything in you is screaming to look away, but you can’t. It’s as if it’s got you by the chin.

You feel the cooled meat split and squash in your mouth, strings of it threading through your teeth. The flavor is metallic and the scent of it fills your mouth- cooled, raw, just the slightest hint of blood. You chew, your mouth watering and a tickle threatening a gag at the back of your throat. Just as you start to get overwhelmed, you feel the soft silk of its sleeves cup your cheeks and tilt your head up.

It leans down, lips twitching back to show off those awful rotten teeth- a blue-grey tongue slithers out and prods your lips with its cold, slimy tip. You open your mouth to whimper and it invades. Your eyes shut and you feel your hands ball up in the loose fabric of its suit, the cold tongue is far wider the more it pushes into your mouth, frigid drool crawls down your chin and bubbles at the corner of your mouth- it’s salty and disgusting. You love it, despite your body’s best efforts to deny the fact.

Your hands finally come to rest clutching its bony shoulders. It leans back after two or three swipes across your tongue and teeth. A string of cloudy saliva hangs between your lips and its mouth briefly before you cough and wipe your mouth. Your arms quiver and you shakily bring the meat back to your lips. You bite into it, a bigger piece this time and chew it quickly. This time, you sit up a bit and open your mouth willingly. Your stomach knots up and a flash of heat sparks through your core like someone striking a match- especially when you feel its sleeved hands hold your waist. Your thighs are trembling and once again it leans in to give you a type of aggressive, slimy kiss. You can feel your heartbeat pounding in your stomach… and perhaps lower.

The tongue swipes out and accepts your graciously chewed gift, hungrily swallowing it down. Its foul, cold breath washes over your jaw and throat, and this time it even kisses your bottom lip when it pulls back. You catch your breath and begin to bite into the meat again.

This time, you rise up on your knees and rest your hands on its shoulders, turning your head and parting your lips to kiss-feed it more. You push the chewed food into its mouth and it tightens its grip on your waist, narrow chest rising and falling. You think you hear just the softest of growls in its throat, but you can’t be sure. You feel dizzy and filthy, but you know that you can’t stop until the meat is gone.

Eventually, you’re left with a slightly bloody piece of butcher paper. You start to crumple the trash up but it stops you from doing so. Leaning down, it licks at the paper- you can feel the tip of its tongue tickling at your palm through the material. Just a few laps, and it sits back.

“Thank you, I haven’t had much of a meal since you began bringing me meat. I could only chew small portions, and by then, well,” it sighs and you notice his breath. It’s still foul, but there’s less of a stink there than before. And do its teeth seem a little less… cracked and discolored?

Your heart is still pounding in your chest, wrist, and loins. You feel shaky, like you’ve just run from a predator.

“Should I come back tomorrow?” you ask, and you finally drop your eyes to look at his body. Even though the suit is baggy, you can tell that it’s skinny and under fed. Sympathy tugs at your thundering heart and you reach out to touch its chest. Your fingers stop short when it growls, and you look up sharply.

“Yes, tomorrow evening. Bring more. I need more than this, pardon my pushing.” It smiles and blinks slowly, sleepily. It raises a sleeve and holds it out to you. Instinctively, you hold out your hand. A wallet is deposited into your palm- the leather is cool to the touch. “Use whatever paper money is in there, discard the rest.” It asks, and you swallow.

You swallow again when you feel a bit sick to your stomach. Part of you knows very well that this clown did not have a wallet, and this wallet in your palm was probably not only stolen but belonged to someone… who also didn’t need a wallet anymore. Your skin crawls.

You stand on shaky legs, wobbling for a moment and feeling somewhat charmed that the seated clown leaves its arm out for you to steady yourself on. It looks tired, almost dozing off right where it is.

Leaving, you cast several glances over your shoulder- the final time you’re fairly certain that it’s fallen asleep.

As you leave the Neibolt house, you feel your legs start to speed up and find yourself running for home. It’s dark out, and you want to scream and cry. On the way home, you stop and vomit up some sticky, pinkish foam in your neighbor’s dormant iris bed.

The shower you take can’t be hot enough, and sleep is practically a joke as you lie in bed and think about that tongue and the grip on your waist. You decide that you’ll be back tomorrow, like it asked.


	3. Chase and Taste

Sitting back on your heels and wiping your chin, you still haven’t quite gotten used to feeding him. His mouth was healing as far as you could tell. The teeth were healthier looking, the gums less blackened and ulcerated, even its tongue was a more vibrant teal color. You assume that was its natural flesh color and for whatever reason this didn’t strike you as odd.

Or did it? There were times you felt like you were in a dream- when you were leaning in and opening your mouth, when you felt its hands grip you through the silky fabric of its sleeves. Even the stink of death around it didn’t bother you as much as it had a couple weeks ago. You went through the routine as if you were in a fog. Sometimes it felt like it did more than just accept the meal- the rake of teeth over your bottom lip or the occasional swipe of tongue along your jaw. Sometimes it made you blushed and you felt dirty for wondering if it’d ever go further.

At night, you lay in bed and feel your heartbeat pounding in your temples and wrists, and a place you don’t want to acknowledge… you roll over onto your belly and shut your eyes, pretending you don’t feel that swirling heat in the cup of your hips. How foul.

While waiting for the sensation to fade, you start to connect a few dots. You needed something fresher, as it’d told you. Something soft, too. Derry would be having one if its bi-annual blood drives tomorrow. You knew right where it’d be stationed and honestly, sneaking a few bags wouldn’t be too hard. You knew where they stored them, usually.

_Easy meal. Fresh blood. You won’t have to kiss-feed. At least for the day._

Rolling over in bed, a slash of moonlight falls from your blinds to streak across your chin and lips. You raise your hand to your face, tracing the shape of your mouth with your fingertips. You continue to your chin, along your jaw. After a moment’s debate, you drop your hand below the covers and cup yourself. You feel your heat and the way it throbs- the pressure from your palm quells this somewhat. You had told yourself over and over again you weren’t going to pay attention to the feelings you cultivated from being around the monster.

However, you realize that now your fingers have moved seemingly on their own. A stroke, a tug, spreading the beginning slickness over yourself and using it to make the job easier. A tightness spreads across your chest and you feel your thighs twitch and tighten the longer you go on. At one point you gasp and bring your hand up from the hot darkness under the blankets; you rest your wrist on your forehead and pant softly.

Swallowing with a dry mouth, you roll back onto your stomach. The throbbing sensation is worse, and you can only think about the things you’ve done recently. Letting the monster hold you like that, letting it dip its tongue into your mouth and bite your lips with its painful teeth. Letting it loom over you… how you wanted it to run its tongue along your throat, or across your chest.

You’ve raised your hips up a bit without realizing it, and you slide your hand under your belly to stroke yourself. It’s even hotter now, and even wetter. Your palm gets a light coating of slickness on it and you turn your face into your pillow. Embarrassment floods over your body in a hot wash as you think about the clown monster’s tongue on your exposed parts. Slimy, cold, wriggling-

You pull your hand away quickly and stay on your knees and chest for a moment. Your legs tremble, and a single drop of your nectar rolls down your inner thigh. The building static sensation in your legs and guts starts to subside, only to be replaced by a dull ache. Groaning, your knees slide back and you lay flat on your belly again. You stopped just before reaching a point of no return- afraid that if you were to tip over the edge you would be locked tightly into some unspoken contract.

After a moment to cool down, you get up and wash your hands. Your skin is crawling, and you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched. Lying in bed again you think over the choice you made for tomorrow. Blood drive. Bags of fresh blood. Pennywise will be happy with you. Eventually, sleep claims you with warm, dark hands.

 

* * *

 

The next day is brisk and alive with busy people. Derry is positively buzzing with activity as the big blood drive is set up in the park and a cheerful atmosphere settles in. You’re reminded of when you used to visit state fairs or theme parks- the laughter, the upbeat murmur of conversation, the salty sweet scent of fried foods hanging in the air. The occasional whiff of drink carefully hidden in a paper bag.

You stick your hands in your coat pocket and tuck your chin down against the nippy autumn wind. A big red and white tent is set up in the park, surrounded by some stalls and a couple of hastily slapped together rides- a merry-go-round, a remarkably small ferris wheel, and (from what you can smell) a very small petting zoo. A goat bleating in the distance confirms your assumptions.

Leaves skitter across the side walk and you follow them towards the hub of activity. The big tent has people going in and out, and two big ambulances are sitting nearby. There’s a nervousness in your stomach that makes you consider backing out of the idea. Steeling yourself, you head towards the tent opening.

The big jacket you wore today was too hot in the tent- not because of any heaters, but because of your nerves. Every step brought you closer and closer to the white styrofoam containers containing bags of chilled blood.

A nurse approaches you and says something. You look at her, eyebrows knitting together questioningly as the ringing in your ears nearly blots out her words for a second time.

“Are you here to give blood?” she asks, but you can see a hint of worry in her eye.

You’re sweating. For a moment you’re frozen to the spot, your tongue prickling with nerves before you stammer out your answer.

“O-oh, I already did. I was-“ you glance around, wetting your lips when you spy one of the nurses carting a dolly full of white foam tubs to a flap at the back of the tent. “-wondering where I could get a snack? You know, like, juice or-“ you swallow again, your throat dry and sticking to itself.

The nurse smiles at you and sticks a hand into her scrubs pocket, then comes up with a little coupon sized piece of cardstock.

“You didn’t get one of these? It’s for a free corndog over at that stand there. Don’t forget to pick up a shirt, too!” she says, and offers the card. You take it with shaky fingers and smile at her.

“Thanks, I don’t think I grabbed one. Where’s the shirts?”

“Oh, back table back there.” She points behind her with her pen. You nod and mutter a quick thanks before walking towards the back of the tent. A few long tables were set up and a couple of bored looking teenagers were passing out shirts. You select your size and exit through the same open flap that the nurse pushing the dolly did. You see them there- stacks of white containers piled neatly in the back of one ambulance.

You feel as though your throat couldn’t possibly get any drier, and yet…

You meander off to the side and pretend to look at the shirt you got. It’s an ugly green color with a cartoon turkey on the front giving a feathery thumbs up. It reads, ‘THANKS for GIVING blood!’ in big off-white font. The back is covered in sponsors and the red-cross logo.

While you eyeball the shirt, you come up with a plan. You step to the back of the tent and quickly shrug your jacket off. You quickly pull on the blood drive shirt over your other one, and slip the jacket back on. You take a deep breath, trying to quiet the heartbeat you can feel pounding in your belly.

Now, to act.

You approach the two men standing by the front of one of the ambulances and give a shy wave. They stop their discussion and look at you, eyebrows arched in question.

“H-hey, uh, I’m one of the volunteers from inside- the nurse up front was wondering if you guys could help move a few of the tables around? They’re setting up a few more chairs since turnout has been great.” You say, but you hear the anxiety in your voice.

The two men look at each other and shrug. One asks, “Up front?” and you nod.

They go inside the tent flap to their fake duty. You know shit like that only works in books, so you hurry to the back of the ambulance. You start to sweat and shake as you try to pick up one of the cartons and realize that it is deceptively heavy. You pull the lid off and select a few bags, sticking them inside your jacket. You wince at how cold they are, but suffer it anyways. Four should do, right? You’re just putting the lid back on when you feel a tight grip on your elbow.

You yelp and drop the lid just as one of the men says “Hey!” he lets go of your elbow like you’ve burnt him.  
  
“What’re you doing? That nurse said she didn’t need any help.” He says, looking suspicious. You stammer a bit and look to the side. Your stomach drops when you notice the other ambulance driver is speaking to a policeman. You feel blood drain from your face, and you swallow.

“I was supposed to count how many- uh, how many-“ you feel your eyes start to sting. Fear wells up within you and one fat, hot drop rolls over your cheek. It leaves a wet track behind, stingingly cold in the wind.

The man starts to motion for his partner and the cop to come over when your instincts kick in. Before you know it, you hear the men shouting after you and you’re booking it across the mini fairgrounds, panting and pumping your arms. One of the bags falls from your jacket and lands on the ground- it splatters in a sickening way and a group of people scream and scatter. To your luck, their scattering impedes the men’s chase after you. You stumble up the walk to the street level side walk and land heavily.

_Sklat!_

A tight, grunting sound squeaks out of your raw throat as you feel a lukewarm wash of blood burst against your heaving side. It splatters out the bottom of your jacket and immediately cools in a sticky wet patch on your thigh. You start running again but your lungs are burning and you can’t gulp enough cool air down to keep up your pace much longer.

You take a chance and cut sharply into an alley that leads through down town. You’ve been walking Derry only for a month or two but you had a decent sense of direction, and either way you couldn’t ignore that constant pull towards the house on Neibolt street. The constant pull to It.

Leaning on a brick wall next to some metal dumpsters, you catch your breath. You cough, spitting out some bitter saliva that had clogged up your throat. Your lungs ache and your heart thuds in every feasible place you can feel it. Eventually, you start to come down from your high and exhaustion sweeps over you. Your limbs tremble like saplings in a storm, and you want more than anything to go home and take a hot shower.

Your nose runs and you sniff, realizing now that you’re crying. You look up at the sky, blinking back a few rogue tears before carefully threading through the alley towards Neibolt street. Luckily for you, no one seems to notice the dark patch on your clothes.

You walk stiffly, your legs hot and sore with the effort you had today. Your arms hang at your sides, limp and swinging slightly. A tremor has set into your fingers. You still have two bags of blood, and you hope all the jostling didn’t ruin them somehow.

_Poor, poor sweet doll. Come here, come home. Let me take care of you._

You look over your shoulder, relieved to see no one is there. Lately you’ve been getting thoughts as if someone else were speaking to you. You had a hunch but didn’t want to admit that the voice in your head _wasn’t_ because you were losing it. It was an actual creature, crouching in that old dilapidated house on Neibolt street.

Neiblot street, Neiblot street. It practically haunted you.  You dreamed of it, you thought about it. More specifically, you thought about the being within It. The one that gave you slimy ‘kisses’ and held your body in such a needy way-

You shut your eyes tight for just a second as a tingle snakes through your hips and stomach. You could really go for a glass of water.

The afternoon takes on a golden quality as the sun starts its slow descent to the horizon. Your shadow is long and lonely on the badly paved road. Even the leaves dancing in the wind feel lifeless. Maybe you’re just tired.

Dutifully you climb the steps of the Neibolt house. No longer are you intimidated by the tall front door or the dark eaves and cobwebs within. This almost felt familiar at this point. The sagging steps supporting your journey, each squeak a sound of encouragement. The door on its crooked frame like the lopsided smile of a childhood friend. The inside of the house doesn’t feel so expansive. It feels like a cozy place, a tired place, a place to come and rest.

You shut the door behind you and went straight for the stairs leading to the second floor. They curve into a landing. You stop on the landing a moment and look out the tall, dirty window. You can see parts of Derry from here but all feels so far off and disconnected. The lifeless grey insides of the old home don’t match the vibrant fall colors and blue sky outside.

The softest creak of wood behind you makes you turn around. Your heart leaps up into your mouth and for a moment you’re afraid that the cops chased you all the way here.

For once, you’re relieved to see the tall, regal clown standing at the very top of the stairs. A warm smile is on its face, eyes closed almost as if it were napping where it stood.

They opened somewhat, the smallest hint of blue peering down at you.

“Hello. You got into a bit of trouble, didn’t you?” it says, oily voice oozing its way into your core. You feel a heat burn in your otherwise cold ears.

You want to speak, but you almost feel like crying. The events from earlier and the lack of adrenaline have finally sunk into your shaky limbs. It holds its arms out to you and it’s as if a magnet pulls you towards it. You start up the stairs, slipping and finishing the rest of the way on all fours like you used to do when you were young. You end up hugging its legs while you sit on your knees, burying your face into its thighs. You can feel old bones and joints creak beneath the fabric, and the heavy sleeves you’ve come to adore rest on your head and shoulders. The weight is- once again- comforting.

The sleeves grasp each side of your head and pull. For a horrifying second, you imagine him pulling your head clean off your shoulders. You realize with some relief it only means for you to stand. As you reach out and touch its skinny waist, you can’t help but notice there’s a tremble to him.

“Y-you’re shaking,” you sniff, and look up at its face.

“I’m. Hungry.” It says stiffly, like someone trying to keep a quiver out of their voice when they’re too cold. “Come, do you have something for me?”

“Yes,” you say, and start to pull one of the blood bags from your jacket.

Before you’re able to get it completely out of your jacket you feel something like a soft tug in your hands. A warmth splashes over your front and splatters on the floor, beading up in plaster dust from the crumbling ceiling.

You stumble back and your arms pinwheel a moment as the floor beneath your feet becomes soft. Directly behind you is a hole where part of the floor caved in and fell to the first story below. Any further and you might have fallen into the splintered timbers and plaster yourself.

You inhale sharply and grab for the banister. It creaks but supports you, and you get to your feet.

“P-penny-“ you squawk, but your voice is cut off by a wet, throaty snarl.

Its collar seems fluffier than you remember and its usually upright body is hunched into a curve. Its sleeves don’t look right… the bend of the elbow is far too low. You think you can spy teeth gnashing where the hands would come out.

A shriek wells up in your chest but you feel frozen to the spot, eyes locked on its faces now. Its teeth are bared, lips pulled back over blue-grey and bruised gums. Huge hooked canines drip a yellowy saliva and crushing molars flash when it opens its jaws to swipe a long tongue over its cheek. A few flecks of blood there disappear and it growls hungrily again.

 _If it rushes me_ , you think, _we’ll both go through the floor._

You start to reach into your jacket, freezing when you see a ripple of excitement run through the clown beast in front of you. It leans, sleeves thunking onto the floor. You hadn’t really noticed the body shifting, but now it was much more apparent that it had nearly doubled in size. Its jaw hangs loose and drool pools on the floor in sticky gobs, mixing with the splattered blood. You only have one chance; your other three chances had been used up. Two were still making your clothes cling to your body.

In a quick motion you fling the blood pack over the bannister. The monster grunts and bolts down the stairs, shouldering up against the landing wall hard enough to shake a couple pieces of plaster loose from the ceiling. You flinch and run for the bedroom hall, knowing that if you can lock yourself in the monster might not think about eating you. You hear a soft squelch as the final blood pack is popped and lapped up with a hungry tongue.

The door is slammed behind you and you slide a rusty bolt across the top of the frame to keep it in place. You couldn’t run down stairs, it would have caught you as easily as a cat catches a mouse. Your heart hammers in your chest and you feel dizzy, unsure of how you’re going to keep quiet and calm in this situation.

Glancing around, you realize you’ve holed yourself up in its den. The mattresses spread about the floor, the stink of death and rotted meat. The scent of blood on your clothes makes you cough and whimper. You hug your knees and rest your forehead on them, rocking slightly and doing everything you can  to calm your shivering body.

All at once you feel the silence blanketing the house. It’s deafening, ringing in your ears and buzzing around your skull like an angry wasp in a jar. You bite your bottom lip and stare at the door until the image burns into your eyes.

_THOCK._

The sound of the bolt sliding free of the door frame is loud enough to be a gunshot to you. A tight groan of dread threatens to turn into a sob in your throat when the door swings open. Slowly, at first, and then exploding open with enough force to bury the brass knob into the wall. The hall is pitch black, as if someone draped a sheet of darkness there.

Your eyes burn, you don’t dare take your eyes off the gaping darkness of the doorway.

Heavy sleeved arms shoot from the darkness, impossibly long and ending with sharp, gripping claws. You shriek, rolling out of the way and scuffing your knee on the ground. In your panic, you run for the window. Your full intention is to just leap for safety.

A moment’s hesitation costs you dearly. A cold, bony hand wraps around your ankle and yanks you clean off your feet. You land heavily on your stomach and wheeze, feeling yourself be dragged backwards. You scrabble at the ground and feel your palms sting with the cut of some old glass. You hiss, tears rolling down your dusty cheeks. You may as well face your fate.

When you roll onto your back, you’re greeted by Pennywise’s slack-jawed face. Its eyes are locked onto you and glassy with overstimulation. Its mouth is full of teeth, drool drips off its chin and hangs in pinkish strings. There’s smears of red around its mouth, and you know it’s not the red paint markings that are usually there.

“P-please, wh… who will feed you if you kill me?” you cry, squirming, tears rolling from your eyes in hot droplets.

It doesn’t say anything, just reels you in with its impossibly long arm. When you’re near enough to be pulled up by your leg and dangled a foot or two off the floor, it finally smiles.

“Oh, darling. I’m not going to kill you. I just got a little excited is all!” it says in that charming, handsome voice. You hiccup, feeling dizzy and hot from all the blood rushing to your head.

When it smiles again, its teeth are bigger and poking from its lips. You squirm, shivering and whimpering.

“No, not going to kill you. I might _eat_ you, though.” It grunts, and drops you in a heap onto one of the mattresses.

You grunt and start to scramble away, your vision spinning.

“Ah ah, you barely brought me anything to eat. I need to make do with what we have.” It hisses, and yanks you back towards him.

You know both exactly what it refers to, and also not at all. That familiar heat- despite all of your terror- is swirling in your hips again. As you’re pulled towards him your shirt rolls up and your jacket all but comes off.

It plucks it away from your arms as easy as plucking wings off a fly. You shiver, wondering when it got so dark in the house. Nervously you hug your arms to your body and shut your eyes, your teeth clattering as cold clutches as your now bared skin. Your front and thighs are still coated in a pint of blood, you feel your skin stick to itself.

Gloved knuckles gently brush the tears off your cheeks and you feel cold, wet lips press to your forehead.

“As much as I enjoy the taste of your fear, I’m so sorry for frightening you, my doll. What would we be without each other?”  it purrs in your ear, the tip of a slender tongue flicking along your neck. A swirling mixture of heat and elation rolls through your body and you tip your chin upwards.

Your neck exposed, you feel its lips press there. Just as you’d thought about that previous night, it drags its cold tongue over your throat. Its sharp teeth bruise your skin and the sting of pain keeps you grounded. You try to lift your arms and reach for its body, but your limbs feel heavy. It chuckles, a rumbling growl behind the sound that makes your hair stand on end.

“U-uh, I’m-“ you grunt, trying to sit up. Those same gloved hands from before take a gentle hold of the rolled-up shirts and further pull them off over your head. Without much hesitation, it leans down and kisses your rib cage, tongue lapping in slow, firm draws as it gets up every drop of blood spilled down your front.

The tongue finds its way across your chest, teeth leaving a ring of purple around your nipples. The cold air and drool has made them stiff, and the swirl of tongue over them doesn’t help with your visible excitement. Limply, you rest your hand on its fluffy and slightly blood-stained collar. You wheeze when cold drops of saliva drip onto your stomach, only to be licked up with the rest of the blood on you.

Rather than rip your pants off as you thought it might do, you feel its fingers fiddle with the button and draw your clothes away. Its large gloved hand grips one of your thighs as you draw your knees up in instinct. Heat burns in your chest and face and your hands tighten in the rough of its collar. For just a moment in your haze of fear and lust, you feel its throat vibrate with some sort of purr.

“W-wait,” you gasp, and your grip on its shoulders loosens as it sinks below your hips.

A tongue lashes over your stomach and hip, curling up any sticky, clotted blood. The tendril fishes briefly just inside the elastic of your underwear. The monster grunts softly as it lays between your legs, arms wrapped around your legs to keep them still. The slow lapping at your skin reminds you of an animal with a bone, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making a sound.

A kiss to your mons sends a rush of fire and electricity through your pelvis. You stomach clenches up and you cover your mouth. The world spins behind your closed eyelids, and your thighs tighten in its hands. It hasn’t moved your underwear aside yet, but seems satisfied with licking at you through your underwear. The drool soaks you and cools in the air, making goosebumps scatter across your legs and arms.

It turns its head, kissing and biting at your thigh. It chuckles lowly when your leg jumps from the little painful nips.

“Hmmh, you’ve been so kind to me since you arrived.”  It speaks, voice deep and muffled a bit against your shivering skin. “I must reciprocate, and how I’m fond of doing so. Wouldn’t you like that?”

You nod, and say yes breathlessly. You inhale sharply when gloved fingers hook into your underwear and pull them away, around your knees. The hand returns, the soft fabric of glove feeling almost rough against the sensitive area. It squeezes your sex, cupping you in the same way you had cupped and pressed yourself the other night.

A noise catches in your throat and you whine, suddenly feeling needy and excited. Your heart races, but this time it’s not out of fear.

The tongue curls around your parts with an obscene wet sound, and its breath puffs over your thighs in cold bursts. You shudder, and now those noises come out. Quiet, shy, but with genuine feeling in them. You dig your fingers into the dirty mattress and feel your legs jump and stomach twitch with every lick and suck.

Big, flesh-rending teeth bite delicately at your parts and along your inner thigh, leaving little bruises and strawberry patches. Flowers bloom on your skin, and you finally let your legs relax.

Gloves part you, and you are tasted and lapped at as delicately as someone tasting a fine dessert. Occasionally you notice it shift its body, a growl or two burping softly from its throat.

“Come here,” you say, feeling your lips move and a sound like your voice echo in the room. “Come here, let me- I want to touch you, too.”

It obliges, laying so that its hips rest on the mattress beside your head. At first, you’re too dizzy and throbbing with sensation to properly focus on it. Then, after a moment of running your shaky hand over its bony hips and skinny thighs, you find what could only be its member.

It’s incredibly thick the closer you feel towards its base, but tapers into a fine tip with a sort of bulbous feeling end. It curls against its thigh, and you carefully undo the two small buttons that allow access to its crotch.

You pause, realizing that it has stopped lapping at you to watch a moment. The indigo eyes flash gold for a moment. Something hot touches your face. You turn your head, and your first reaction is a jolt of fear- which directly corresponds to the clown growling deeply and hugging your hips closer to its face again. Drool drips on your inner thigh and it goes back to lapping at you, occasionally dipping its tongue just barely into your body.

The tendril is very long and flexible, reaching to curl around and hold your wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. It is slime coated and you can feel the bundles of stiff muscles flexing against your hand and arm. The scent of it is a heavy musk and you wonder if- at any other time- it would normally make you gag. You don’t seem to mind right now.

The tip has something like small nubs, they flex and grip your skin in a way that nearly unnerves you. But, you had asked to touch and tend to it, so you follow though.

You scoot your upper half forward and open your mouth, kissing along the thick base of it until it curls and presses at your mouth. You open, willing, and let it slip past your lips.

The slime coating it is salty and reminds you very much of your weeks spent kiss-feeding its rotten mouth. You cough around it and wrap your hand around the base, your eyes watering up. It grabs your chin with two fingers and quickly snaps your head upwards, straightening out your neck. You manage only one choked squeak of a sound before its hips flex and you feel the hot tendril slide down your throat and into your esophagus. Your heart hammers and water springs to your eyes as your throat closes and you can no longer draw air. You grip its suit tightly and one of your legs comes up in protest. Just as you start to see white spots in your vision the tendril is slid out of your guts with a squelch and you gag with a strained sound.

As soon as the tendril is out you suck in a breath and keep a tight grip halfway up its length. You lick at the flexing tip and feel the creature puff against your sex. For a moment the reaction is almost endearing if it hadn’t just tried to suffocate you on its strange, alien cock.

In a glint of moonlight, you spot something up towards the base of the tendril. You keep the slimy organ occupied with firm strokes, sort of liking how the end of it grips at your fingers briefly. A little nub at its hilt looks shiny and bright, like a fat blueberry almost. You’re reminded of human anatomy, and experimentally lick your thumb and rub the side of the pert looking button.

“Augh-“ it coughs, and its body stiffens up. You feel a smile ghost across your lips and you lean forward, pressing your face to the small patch of fur and skin peeking through the open suit flap. The fur there is wiry and tickles your nose and face, the scent of it heavy. You purse your lips and kiss the hot little button. Pennywise’s entire body straightens and its grip on your thighs tightens till you feel its fingertips leaving pressure bruises.

You pant against the spot when its tongue curls around your parts and gives you a slimy, almost shaky stroke. You can feel the slime dripping down your parts, and you make an effort to lick and suckle at the sensitive nub. The monster makes a soft sound of pleasure- the noise sends a race of electricity up your spine and you feel encouraged to continue. Its tendril wraps around your neck and squeezes slightly, making you feel light headed and dizzy.

It bucks its hips once and you can hear its joints pop as it tenses up tightly. The tendril around your neck twitches and swells. A thick vein stands out along its underbelly and you feel the organ pulse once. The nub against your lips twitches and a hot gush of liquid streaks down your front and against your neck. You gasp, the fluid feeling almost scalding compared to the temperature in the room.

The monster has its face resting on the mattress, hips shivering as it groans softly and drools heavily. Its eyes are rolled back, and the expression is clear. You brought it to climax. Instinctively you wipe your mouth and pet the quivering monster, tentatively petting at the patch of red fur surrounding its crotch and (from what you can tell) trailing up its skinny belly.

The tendril releases your neck and slithers out of sight, a big sleeve and shaky gloved fingers closing the flap. Pennywise shifts and presses its forehead against yours, then licks its own mess off of your throat and chest. It collapses on you, panting- you can smell both blood and yourself on its breath. You shiver, and then gently rest your hand on its back. It grunts, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Its bony body pokes you in places, but you don’t care at this point.

Within moments, you both are claimed by a heavy sleep


End file.
